


rules of engagement

by CopperCaravan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fenera Mahariel, Fluff, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperCaravan/pseuds/CopperCaravan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for zevwarden week, day six: sparring. Zevran and Mahariel spar; they've got a good system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rules of engagement

When she asks, she is bold as ever but when he accepts, she is hesitant. _Payment_ , she worries, _a fair trade_. It was not so easy a thing for him to learn, after all, and she never asks more of him than he wants to give (she doesn’t understand yet, how much he wants to give her, how much he is trying to be able to give her). “Do not worry,” he says. “It will be fun.”

At first, they trade the pot. Despite her Fereldan inclinations, she loves the food Zevran cooks. ( _Don’t tell Alistair,_ she whispers, _but I hate his stew. I’ve never had such poorly cooked rabbit in my life._ ) If she wants to eat anything decent, she has to pin him. In those first few days, she can’t manage it and though the others aren’t privy to their deal, they all notice that Zevran does not cook. It does little for team morale, subjecting them to Alistair’s gruel. _Querida_ —he slips, corrects himself— _Warden, however did you best me when we met?_

When she’s managed the basics—beat him four days in a row—he decides their contract needs adjusting: the winner will choose rotations. Threatening her with the guard shift right before dawn does wonders for her motivations (though for Thedas’ sake, he hopes the archdemon decides to attack them during the daylight). It is an effective strategy for exactly a week, until he realizes they are both not-so-subtly working his little system. Even the pre-dawn shift is much more pleasant when they are together and it seems that she agrees.

 Her next idea—only surprising in that he hadn’t considered it first—are the kisses. A kiss during combat is worth one point. A _distracting_ kiss during combat is worth five. He is very happy with the idea, of course. At first. Two weeks and half as many losses later, he is less pleased, but quite impressed with her progress. _Amor,_ he says, _I believe you are fighting dirty._ She laughs. _Isn’t that the point?_

There are questions he does not know how to ask her, and truths he does not know how to tell. The next thing they trade are secrets. His foot sweeps her legs out from under her. _My clan waited for me to be a mage like my father; I never became one._ Her elbow knocks his breath away. _I ran to the Dalish, a last hope, and they turned me away._ He holds her arms behind her back, a hold she cannot break. _I am still a little afraid of shemlen._ She wrestles him to the ground, nearly breaks his wrist. _I am still a little afraid of myself._ His knife at her throat, so careful. _Tamlen died and it was my fault._ Her blades at his heart, far too gentle. _I killed Rinna._ Hard sparring and harder words and at the end of the month, they lie in a heap in his tent, fingers in hair and bodies aching, and they are better for it.

When the time comes, he trusts that she will live, that she will remember afternoons and late nights and early mornings in camp clearings, and all the ways they fought and touched and loved. He trusts that she will fight and that she will return to him. _One last round,_ he says. And she asks, _what will we trade_?

She traded for his life, nearly a year ago, so he will trade for hers. It would be simply unforgivable for her to go back on a deal.


End file.
